“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” The thought ran through my mind over and over: “You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” It was like a marching band traversing through my mind over and over as I slowly made my way down the quickly moving street.
“You're not a criminal yet.” The sound became louder and more obnoxious to match my ever-slowing footsteps. I felt as if I was crawling along a worn and beaten path, and the world around me had switched into super-speed; the people and cars going by in fractions of a second, not a one giving me a single glance.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” I reached into my pocket and slowly traced the freshly-inscribed gang symbol along the sharp blade of my knife with a single finger. This was my ticket to happiness. This little piece of metal was to be my escape from the tormenting world of alcoholic fathers and relentless bullies: A sliver of steel turned into a sliver of hope, acceptance, and respect. A twitch of the lips sent my dull face into a slight hint of a smile as I focused upon this single thought.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” I grimaced—only slightly—and frowned once again as the torrential thought ripped its way into my confused mind once again. I glanced around nervously to see if anyone was watching me, but saw again only the blur of people and cars passing by while my own body seemed to move at the slowest pace possible. I turned my head back to stare straight ahead as I walked with all the determination I could muster so as not to looks suspicious. I even went so far as to remove the hood from my head.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.”
“DAMMIT!” I yelled, and clapped my hand over my mouth the moment the words left, terrified that some passer-by would suspect me.
“Everything alright?” the blur of motion slowed for a moment to reveal a concerned face several feet in front of me. I couldn't deduce a uniform, and so responded.
“Yes, yes, I'm fine.” The blur returned.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” it was all I could do to keep from turning and running home. I slid my finger along the freshly sharpened blade once more, reminding myself of the coming respect and acceptance.
“Just a few more steps.” I reminded myself, and looked around to confirm the whisper of a thought. I was struck with a sudden sense of panic as I came to the realization that the buildings surrounding me had joined the blur of people and cars. Nothing was deduce-able. Colors and lights blended together to form a massive, watery-like vision which flew in front of my eyes. I turned my head every which way, my eyes screaming for an escape route. Nothing. I ran, bumping into several things as I went, waiting for the reassuring thought to return to my head.
I reached for my knife, my finger sliding against the blade and screaming in pain as I did so. I felt a warm trickle run down my arm as I pulled out the weapon and swung it before me like a madman, trying to find some escape from the horrifying blur that was engulfing me.
“He's got a knife!” I heard a faint shout, and a thud as my blade connected with something solid—but not too solid—and sunk in enough to throw me off balance and knock me to the hard, blurry ground. I scrambled to get back on my feet, but was knocked over again by a heavy object. I cried out in pain, begging the reassuring thought to return and wipe my conscience clean.
I made no effort to stand up, and had lost the gang-emblazoned knife when I struck that unfortunate passer-by. A knee was pressed into my back, and cold steel tightened onto my clammy wrists.
“I'm not...a criminal...yet.” I panted slowly, but was silenced by a commanding voice.
“You have the right to remain silent....”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Journey of Sir Lancelot
One might say that a personal journey and a personal essay are quite similar. Both have a beginning and an end, both contain opinions and experiences, and-frankly-both have the word personal in them. Of course, I would disagree entirely with anyone who made such a ridiculous claim, for I have discovered several amazing things about my personal style of writing over the course of the past semester. One could almost say I have met someone who changed my life. Then again, one could say a lot of things and less than half of them could be true...anyway, let's begin.
I started the semester thinking myself a fairly good writer. I have been writing since I was about ten years old, and have spent nearly five years creating a fantasy world and composing great lore stores around this world. In between the time of creating this world I wrote short stories, poems, and books. I also discovered an amazing love affair with the art of film and radio. So, naturally, I considered myself a fairly good writer.
But that was just the problem.
I considered myself-me, Isaac Golle-to be a fairly good writer. Now, don't get me wrong, I still consider myself to be a good writer-but about half way through the semester I discovered something which completely changed the way I wrote just about everything-including essays.
I began when I started writing, "The Elf". I have always been fascinated with the wit of Oscar Wilde, and wanted to capture that sort of personality in a character. In such a way, "Gump" was born. I became fascinated and intrigued with him right away, and very quickly found myself writing down lines for the character as though they came to me naturally. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote; completely blown away by the intelligence, wile, and wit of a character I had created. When I finished, "The Elf" it wasn't enough: I wanted more Mr. Gump.
And so I wrote, coming up with all kinds of mysterious, witty, and intriguing characters, composing their dialogue as though it was my own-as if I was the character through and through.
About a week after, "The Elf" I began work on, "Fun and Games" which was my summative assignment for this class. In this I created Justin and Terence: two more wiley and witty folk to add to the quickly growing pack. One day after I had been writing for a while, I stopped to take a break and turned to an assignment in another class. It also involved writing, and so with a sigh I gathered some paper and began writing answers to the many questions. After a moment I stopped, stared hard at my answers, then glanced over at, "Fun and Games". I looked at my answers again, then at the script once more. My eyes widened and my heart raced: I had discovered a new me.
My writing style has literally evolved into its own personality. Justin, Terence, Gump, and other others, all come out to get a word in every time I place my pen on paper. The me that writes and the me that walks and talks no longer share the same thoughts. I suppose one could say I have a sort of controlled multiple personality disorder. Of course, one could say a lot of things, and less than half of them could be true.
Now, as I look to the future and try to deduce the right path, I look to my new found friend(whom I call Sir Lancelot) and hope that this journey will be nothing short of exhilerating.
******
This was an essay I wrote for a final exam in my writer's craft class. The essay inspired this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkIdIvqDcws
I started the semester thinking myself a fairly good writer. I have been writing since I was about ten years old, and have spent nearly five years creating a fantasy world and composing great lore stores around this world. In between the time of creating this world I wrote short stories, poems, and books. I also discovered an amazing love affair with the art of film and radio. So, naturally, I considered myself a fairly good writer.
But that was just the problem.
I considered myself-me, Isaac Golle-to be a fairly good writer. Now, don't get me wrong, I still consider myself to be a good writer-but about half way through the semester I discovered something which completely changed the way I wrote just about everything-including essays.
I began when I started writing, "The Elf". I have always been fascinated with the wit of Oscar Wilde, and wanted to capture that sort of personality in a character. In such a way, "Gump" was born. I became fascinated and intrigued with him right away, and very quickly found myself writing down lines for the character as though they came to me naturally. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote; completely blown away by the intelligence, wile, and wit of a character I had created. When I finished, "The Elf" it wasn't enough: I wanted more Mr. Gump.
And so I wrote, coming up with all kinds of mysterious, witty, and intriguing characters, composing their dialogue as though it was my own-as if I was the character through and through.
About a week after, "The Elf" I began work on, "Fun and Games" which was my summative assignment for this class. In this I created Justin and Terence: two more wiley and witty folk to add to the quickly growing pack. One day after I had been writing for a while, I stopped to take a break and turned to an assignment in another class. It also involved writing, and so with a sigh I gathered some paper and began writing answers to the many questions. After a moment I stopped, stared hard at my answers, then glanced over at, "Fun and Games". I looked at my answers again, then at the script once more. My eyes widened and my heart raced: I had discovered a new me.
My writing style has literally evolved into its own personality. Justin, Terence, Gump, and other others, all come out to get a word in every time I place my pen on paper. The me that writes and the me that walks and talks no longer share the same thoughts. I suppose one could say I have a sort of controlled multiple personality disorder. Of course, one could say a lot of things, and less than half of them could be true.
Now, as I look to the future and try to deduce the right path, I look to my new found friend(whom I call Sir Lancelot) and hope that this journey will be nothing short of exhilerating.
******
This was an essay I wrote for a final exam in my writer's craft class. The essay inspired this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkIdIvqDcws
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Elf (screenplay
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
The red lights of a digital alarm clock are flashing SIX O' CLOCK accompanied by an awful BEEP BEEP. ALEX's head lifts to look at the clock.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
ALEX has just woken up and is getting ready for work.
Alex (V.o.)
New York is a cold, hard city, and I'm a cold, hard man. I've been living here for years and never once saw a single thing interesting or anything good coming out of this hell-hole. People live on the streets, guns go off every night, and you can always just barely hear that wonderful faint sound of police sirens in the background as you try to doze off at 12:30 in the morning. I've never experienced anything pleasant here, and the only reason I stay is because my job pays excellent money. Which is why, when I met Mr. Gump, I decided to pack my bags and have a change of scene.
INT. Alex's house - day
ALEX is on the phone and pacing about the house in an irritated manner.
ALEX
(into phone)
No...no I specifically heard you say that it would be ready by mond-
(pause)
I was told it would only take the weekend! What so you want me to walk to work every day?
(pause)
Take the bus...
EXT. bus stop - day
title
Monday.
ALEX is sitting on a bus stop bench looking quite irritated and alone. A LOUDLY-SNORING HOBO is taking up the majority of the bench.
ALEX gets up several times to look around impatiently for the bus. After several minutes of waiting, the HOBO awakes with a slight start and stares wide-eyed at ALEX's nice clothes.
ALEX tries to ignore the HOBO, but is unsuccessful.
ALEX
Never seen Eddie Bauer before?
HOBO
(chuckles)
Can't say I've had the privilege of meeting him.
ALEX shifts as far to the end of the bench as possible and the HOBO continues to stare.
hobo
Never sat next to a homeless guy before?
alex
Can't say I've had the privilege
hobo
(laughs)
Well feel yourself privileged my friend.
The HOBO extends his hand out to ALEX and gives a wide, toothy, smile
close up of hobo's face
ALEX is slihtly alarmed by the HOBO's pearly white teeth and smooth, young skin despite his old, shoddy clothing.
HOBO
Gump.
ALEX reluctantly shakes the HOBO's extended hand
ALEX
Alex.
ALEX continues to be alarmed by the pristine condition of the HOBO's skin and teeth. The HOBO notices the stare.
HOBO
I suppose you could call me a clean freak.
ALEX
(flatly)
A clean freak that smells horrible.
HOBO
(laughs)
Can't be the hair.
The HOBO removes a rather dirty toque from his head to reveal long, flowing, blond hair. ALEX stares open-mouthed.
HOBO
There's only one other thing the smell could be, and that's my armpits. However I'm afraid I won't be removing my shirt in these temperatures.
ALEX
(quietly)
It's not that cold out...
The HOBO shrugs and begins to take off his shirt.
ALEX
That won't be necessary! I'll take your word for it.
The HOBO shrugs again and slouches comfortably back into the bus stop bench. There is a short pause.
ALEX
What the hell is that smell if it isn't you?
HOBO
Oh, it's definitely me. Couldn't be anything but. There isn't really anyone else out right now, and your friend Eddie Bauer seems to have given you some nice clothes. I mean look at you you've got--
ALEX
(interrupting)
The smell!
HOBO
Oh, right. My apologies. It's age ALEX; the smell of age.
The HOBO smiles at ALEX as if he's supposed to know exactly what he's talking about.
ALEX
You're younger than I am.
HOBO
Seems that way doesn't it?
ALEX
Yes it seems that way because it is that way Mr. Gump.
HOBO
On the contrary, I'll be turning four thousand on Wednesday. Wednesday. Don't forget that. No one ever seems to remember my birthday these days.
ALEX makes no effort to reply and sits facing straight ahead.
There is a brief moment of awkward silence before the bus arrives.
ALEX hurriedly gets off the bench and boards the bus.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
The red lights of a digital alarm clock are flashing SIX O' CLOCK accompanied by an awful BEEP BEEP. ALEX's head lifts up to look at the clock.
TITLE
Tuesday
series of shots of alex getting ready for the day. types of actions very similar to shots at the opening to show monotonous routine.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
The HOBO is sitting by himself at the bus stop with several garbage bags taking up the rest of the bench.
ALEX enters and stands off to the side pretending not to notice the HOBO.
HOBO
(laugh)
Come sit. I ain't gonna make you stand.
The HOBO takes the garbage bags off the bench and puts them at his feet. ALEX reluctantly sits down.
ALEX
What's in the bags?
HOBO
Oh, it's just part of a collection I've been working on over the years.
ALEX
(laughs)
Seriously, how old are you?
HOBO
Three thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine.
ALEX
You can't be over twenty-five years old. We went over this yesterday.
HOBO
So you don't believe I'm turning four thousand tomorrow?
ALEX
Of course not! It's common sense!
The HOBO holds up a finger to silence ALEX.
HOBO
Ever seen Lord of the Rings?
ALEX is about to reply, when the bus comes and picks ALEX up.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
Red flashing alarm clock lights: "SIX O' CLOCK" accompanied by an awful BEEP BEEP. ALEX's head lifts to look at the clock.
TITLE
Wednesday.
series of shots same as the other two mornings but played faster.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
The HOBO has placed and tied balloons in every place possible around the bus stop and the bus stop bench. The HOBO is sitting contentedly and whistling, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU".
The HOBO stops when he notices ALEX has walked in and is staring open-mouthed. The HOBO gets up to greet ALEX.
HOBO
Did you remember?
ALEX
(sighs)
Happy Birthday.
ALEX and the HOBO sit down on the bench together.
ALEX
I only have one question; why are you doing this?
HOBO
Because it's my birthday.
ALEX gives the HOBO a sarcastic look.
ALEX
You know what I mean. Who are you really? Why are you always here in the morning? How do you know I'm coming?
HOBO
I'm Mr. Gump, and I turned four thousand today, really. As for your other questions, I was here first, and you came the past two days so I just assumed you'd come again today.
ALEX
You weren't hired by one of my relatives to, "change me?"
HOBO
No one's paid me to do anything in a long time. I deal with fellows like you all the time. I do this as a hobby.
ALEX
Stalking people is a hobby?
HOBO
(laughs, shakes head)
You never answered my question yesterday.
ALEX
What question?
HOBO
Lord of the Rings.
ALEX
What about it?
HOBO
Seen it?
ALEX
Yes.
HOBO
Good.
The HOBO removes his toque and lets his long, blonde hair fall around him. The HOBO takes an elastic out of his pocket and puts his hair into a ponytail, revealing long, pointy ears. He smiles at ALEX and points to them.
ALEX stares for several moments while the the HOBO continues to have a playful smile.
ALEX
Nice costume.
The HOBO grabs ALEX's wrist. ALEX pulls away quickly.
ALEX
What are you doing?!
HOBO
Calm down.
(Points to ears)
Feel them.
ALEX slowly reaches up and feels the HOBO's long and pointed ears. His eyes grow wide.
ALEX
They're warm.
The HOBO grins. ALEX gives a slight tug on the ears. The HOBO withdraws quickly.
HOBO
Ow!
ALEX
(mystified)
I'm sorry.
The bus comes and picks ALEX up.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
Red flashing alarm clock lights: "SIX THIRTY". ALEX's head lifts to look at clock. Short pause. ALEX jumps into action.
TITLE
Thursday.
series of shots of alex getting ready. shots are sloppier and more rushed than preparation shots before.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
ALEX is hurrying to the bus stop. He is constantly checking his watch. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks and stares. The bus stop is empty. The HOBO is nowhere to be seen. ALEX slowly walks over and sits down quietly on the bench.
series of shots showing that alex waits for quite a while and is constantly checking to see if the hobo is coming.
The bus comes to pick ALEX up after a long, anxious wait.
int. alex's house Evening
ALEX is setting his alarm to SIX O' CLOCK in the morning to make sure he gets up on time the next day.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
Red flashing alarm clock lights: "SIX O' CLOCK". ALEX's head lifts to look at the clock.
TITLE
Friday.
series of shots showing alex getting ready. The routine is different, and less monotonous.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
ALEX is walking hopefully towards the bus stop. He sees the HOBO there, and runs over to greet him. ALEX begins to ask where the HOBO was yesterday, but the HOBO cuts him off.
HOBO
(laughing)
Have some trouble with your alarm clock?
ALEX
(shocked)
How do you know that?
HOBO
I may or may not have ventured around your apartment and made one or two adjustments to one or two doo-dads.
alex
How...how did you get into my apartment?
HOBO
(laughs)
I've been there many times before my friend: the lovely people at the front desk agree entirely with what I do.
ALEX
What do you do? Seriously.
HOBO
Did you miss me yesterday?
ALEX
Yes, but--
HOBO
(interrupting)
Good, so you do have a heart. Congratulations ALEX you passed the first and only test of my five day course.
ALEX is confused.
HOBO
You've been living a very miserable life ALEX.
ALEX
You know nothing about my life
HOBO
On the contrary ALEX, I know more about you than you could ever begin to imagine. I've been watching you for several months now. All you do is eat, sleep, and work. You're living without a purpose. When was the last time you saw your family?
ALEX
(very quietly)
Ten years ago.
HOBO
(sarcastically)
Is that all?
(pause)
Look, ALEX, from what I gathered about you over my time of studying you is that you were living the dream with your family. You had everything: wife, kids, house, two cars, friends...and you left it all. Why?
ALEX wipes away a tear.
HOBO
I'll tell you why. You're a coward. You're afraid of change and therefore believe that you can live your boring, monotonous life the same way you've been living it for the past ten years, and for the next ten after that, with no consequences!
(pause)
Listen, ALEX, I've been alive pretty much since the dawn of time. I've seen a lot of crazy things. I've watched monuments being built, worshipped, and destroyed several hundred years later. I've witnessed the birth and maturity of many children. I've been to nearly every major location in this world and then some. But you know what I found most fascinating out of all of it?
ALEX doesn't reply as another tear drops from his eye.
HOBO
Faith. I've watched humanity go from being united in one, singular truthful belief to splitting off into this, 'what's true for you isn't necessarily true for me' nonsense. Go jump off a cliff and tell me how true the law of gravity is for you. You wouldn't do that, would you ALEX?
ALEX
(stammering)
HOBO
No, of course you wouldn't! It doesn't make any sense gravity is an undeniable fact! There is only right and wrong in this world ALEX! There is no in between! You can't just keep living your life the way you are and believe that it's right for you! It's not right for anyone!
There is an awkward silence for several minutes and the HOBO takes a seat on the bench. ALEX is staring into space, deep in thought.
HOBO
There's a reason you're alive ALEX. There's a reason for everyone to be alive, and it sure as hell isn't eat, sleep and die.
The HOBO stands up and walks away, leaving ALEX alone at the bus stop.
ALEX sits down on the bench staring into space. After several minutes he absent-mindedly looks beside him and sees a small, white business card. He picks it up. It says simply, 'Gump'. ALEX flips it over. The back side reads: "Ecclesiastes 3:12".
Fade out
The End
The red lights of a digital alarm clock are flashing SIX O' CLOCK accompanied by an awful BEEP BEEP. ALEX's head lifts to look at the clock.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
ALEX has just woken up and is getting ready for work.
Alex (V.o.)
New York is a cold, hard city, and I'm a cold, hard man. I've been living here for years and never once saw a single thing interesting or anything good coming out of this hell-hole. People live on the streets, guns go off every night, and you can always just barely hear that wonderful faint sound of police sirens in the background as you try to doze off at 12:30 in the morning. I've never experienced anything pleasant here, and the only reason I stay is because my job pays excellent money. Which is why, when I met Mr. Gump, I decided to pack my bags and have a change of scene.
INT. Alex's house - day
ALEX is on the phone and pacing about the house in an irritated manner.
ALEX
(into phone)
No...no I specifically heard you say that it would be ready by mond-
(pause)
I was told it would only take the weekend! What so you want me to walk to work every day?
(pause)
Take the bus...
EXT. bus stop - day
title
Monday.
ALEX is sitting on a bus stop bench looking quite irritated and alone. A LOUDLY-SNORING HOBO is taking up the majority of the bench.
ALEX gets up several times to look around impatiently for the bus. After several minutes of waiting, the HOBO awakes with a slight start and stares wide-eyed at ALEX's nice clothes.
ALEX tries to ignore the HOBO, but is unsuccessful.
ALEX
Never seen Eddie Bauer before?
HOBO
(chuckles)
Can't say I've had the privilege of meeting him.
ALEX shifts as far to the end of the bench as possible and the HOBO continues to stare.
hobo
Never sat next to a homeless guy before?
alex
Can't say I've had the privilege
hobo
(laughs)
Well feel yourself privileged my friend.
The HOBO extends his hand out to ALEX and gives a wide, toothy, smile
close up of hobo's face
ALEX is slihtly alarmed by the HOBO's pearly white teeth and smooth, young skin despite his old, shoddy clothing.
HOBO
Gump.
ALEX reluctantly shakes the HOBO's extended hand
ALEX
Alex.
ALEX continues to be alarmed by the pristine condition of the HOBO's skin and teeth. The HOBO notices the stare.
HOBO
I suppose you could call me a clean freak.
ALEX
(flatly)
A clean freak that smells horrible.
HOBO
(laughs)
Can't be the hair.
The HOBO removes a rather dirty toque from his head to reveal long, flowing, blond hair. ALEX stares open-mouthed.
HOBO
There's only one other thing the smell could be, and that's my armpits. However I'm afraid I won't be removing my shirt in these temperatures.
ALEX
(quietly)
It's not that cold out...
The HOBO shrugs and begins to take off his shirt.
ALEX
That won't be necessary! I'll take your word for it.
The HOBO shrugs again and slouches comfortably back into the bus stop bench. There is a short pause.
ALEX
What the hell is that smell if it isn't you?
HOBO
Oh, it's definitely me. Couldn't be anything but. There isn't really anyone else out right now, and your friend Eddie Bauer seems to have given you some nice clothes. I mean look at you you've got--
ALEX
(interrupting)
The smell!
HOBO
Oh, right. My apologies. It's age ALEX; the smell of age.
The HOBO smiles at ALEX as if he's supposed to know exactly what he's talking about.
ALEX
You're younger than I am.
HOBO
Seems that way doesn't it?
ALEX
Yes it seems that way because it is that way Mr. Gump.
HOBO
On the contrary, I'll be turning four thousand on Wednesday. Wednesday. Don't forget that. No one ever seems to remember my birthday these days.
ALEX makes no effort to reply and sits facing straight ahead.
There is a brief moment of awkward silence before the bus arrives.
ALEX hurriedly gets off the bench and boards the bus.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
The red lights of a digital alarm clock are flashing SIX O' CLOCK accompanied by an awful BEEP BEEP. ALEX's head lifts up to look at the clock.
TITLE
Tuesday
series of shots of alex getting ready for the day. types of actions very similar to shots at the opening to show monotonous routine.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
The HOBO is sitting by himself at the bus stop with several garbage bags taking up the rest of the bench.
ALEX enters and stands off to the side pretending not to notice the HOBO.
HOBO
(laugh)
Come sit. I ain't gonna make you stand.
The HOBO takes the garbage bags off the bench and puts them at his feet. ALEX reluctantly sits down.
ALEX
What's in the bags?
HOBO
Oh, it's just part of a collection I've been working on over the years.
ALEX
(laughs)
Seriously, how old are you?
HOBO
Three thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine.
ALEX
You can't be over twenty-five years old. We went over this yesterday.
HOBO
So you don't believe I'm turning four thousand tomorrow?
ALEX
Of course not! It's common sense!
The HOBO holds up a finger to silence ALEX.
HOBO
Ever seen Lord of the Rings?
ALEX is about to reply, when the bus comes and picks ALEX up.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
Red flashing alarm clock lights: "SIX O' CLOCK" accompanied by an awful BEEP BEEP. ALEX's head lifts to look at the clock.
TITLE
Wednesday.
series of shots same as the other two mornings but played faster.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
The HOBO has placed and tied balloons in every place possible around the bus stop and the bus stop bench. The HOBO is sitting contentedly and whistling, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU".
The HOBO stops when he notices ALEX has walked in and is staring open-mouthed. The HOBO gets up to greet ALEX.
HOBO
Did you remember?
ALEX
(sighs)
Happy Birthday.
ALEX and the HOBO sit down on the bench together.
ALEX
I only have one question; why are you doing this?
HOBO
Because it's my birthday.
ALEX gives the HOBO a sarcastic look.
ALEX
You know what I mean. Who are you really? Why are you always here in the morning? How do you know I'm coming?
HOBO
I'm Mr. Gump, and I turned four thousand today, really. As for your other questions, I was here first, and you came the past two days so I just assumed you'd come again today.
ALEX
You weren't hired by one of my relatives to, "change me?"
HOBO
No one's paid me to do anything in a long time. I deal with fellows like you all the time. I do this as a hobby.
ALEX
Stalking people is a hobby?
HOBO
(laughs, shakes head)
You never answered my question yesterday.
ALEX
What question?
HOBO
Lord of the Rings.
ALEX
What about it?
HOBO
Seen it?
ALEX
Yes.
HOBO
Good.
The HOBO removes his toque and lets his long, blonde hair fall around him. The HOBO takes an elastic out of his pocket and puts his hair into a ponytail, revealing long, pointy ears. He smiles at ALEX and points to them.
ALEX stares for several moments while the the HOBO continues to have a playful smile.
ALEX
Nice costume.
The HOBO grabs ALEX's wrist. ALEX pulls away quickly.
ALEX
What are you doing?!
HOBO
Calm down.
(Points to ears)
Feel them.
ALEX slowly reaches up and feels the HOBO's long and pointed ears. His eyes grow wide.
ALEX
They're warm.
The HOBO grins. ALEX gives a slight tug on the ears. The HOBO withdraws quickly.
HOBO
Ow!
ALEX
(mystified)
I'm sorry.
The bus comes and picks ALEX up.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
Red flashing alarm clock lights: "SIX THIRTY". ALEX's head lifts to look at clock. Short pause. ALEX jumps into action.
TITLE
Thursday.
series of shots of alex getting ready. shots are sloppier and more rushed than preparation shots before.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
ALEX is hurrying to the bus stop. He is constantly checking his watch. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks and stares. The bus stop is empty. The HOBO is nowhere to be seen. ALEX slowly walks over and sits down quietly on the bench.
series of shots showing that alex waits for quite a while and is constantly checking to see if the hobo is coming.
The bus comes to pick ALEX up after a long, anxious wait.
int. alex's house Evening
ALEX is setting his alarm to SIX O' CLOCK in the morning to make sure he gets up on time the next day.
INT. ALEX'S HOUSE - DAY
Red flashing alarm clock lights: "SIX O' CLOCK". ALEX's head lifts to look at the clock.
TITLE
Friday.
series of shots showing alex getting ready. The routine is different, and less monotonous.
EXT. BUS STOP - DAY
ALEX is walking hopefully towards the bus stop. He sees the HOBO there, and runs over to greet him. ALEX begins to ask where the HOBO was yesterday, but the HOBO cuts him off.
HOBO
(laughing)
Have some trouble with your alarm clock?
ALEX
(shocked)
How do you know that?
HOBO
I may or may not have ventured around your apartment and made one or two adjustments to one or two doo-dads.
alex
How...how did you get into my apartment?
HOBO
(laughs)
I've been there many times before my friend: the lovely people at the front desk agree entirely with what I do.
ALEX
What do you do? Seriously.
HOBO
Did you miss me yesterday?
ALEX
Yes, but--
HOBO
(interrupting)
Good, so you do have a heart. Congratulations ALEX you passed the first and only test of my five day course.
ALEX is confused.
HOBO
You've been living a very miserable life ALEX.
ALEX
You know nothing about my life
HOBO
On the contrary ALEX, I know more about you than you could ever begin to imagine. I've been watching you for several months now. All you do is eat, sleep, and work. You're living without a purpose. When was the last time you saw your family?
ALEX
(very quietly)
Ten years ago.
HOBO
(sarcastically)
Is that all?
(pause)
Look, ALEX, from what I gathered about you over my time of studying you is that you were living the dream with your family. You had everything: wife, kids, house, two cars, friends...and you left it all. Why?
ALEX wipes away a tear.
HOBO
I'll tell you why. You're a coward. You're afraid of change and therefore believe that you can live your boring, monotonous life the same way you've been living it for the past ten years, and for the next ten after that, with no consequences!
(pause)
Listen, ALEX, I've been alive pretty much since the dawn of time. I've seen a lot of crazy things. I've watched monuments being built, worshipped, and destroyed several hundred years later. I've witnessed the birth and maturity of many children. I've been to nearly every major location in this world and then some. But you know what I found most fascinating out of all of it?
ALEX doesn't reply as another tear drops from his eye.
HOBO
Faith. I've watched humanity go from being united in one, singular truthful belief to splitting off into this, 'what's true for you isn't necessarily true for me' nonsense. Go jump off a cliff and tell me how true the law of gravity is for you. You wouldn't do that, would you ALEX?
ALEX
(stammering)
HOBO
No, of course you wouldn't! It doesn't make any sense gravity is an undeniable fact! There is only right and wrong in this world ALEX! There is no in between! You can't just keep living your life the way you are and believe that it's right for you! It's not right for anyone!
There is an awkward silence for several minutes and the HOBO takes a seat on the bench. ALEX is staring into space, deep in thought.
HOBO
There's a reason you're alive ALEX. There's a reason for everyone to be alive, and it sure as hell isn't eat, sleep and die.
The HOBO stands up and walks away, leaving ALEX alone at the bus stop.
ALEX sits down on the bench staring into space. After several minutes he absent-mindedly looks beside him and sees a small, white business card. He picks it up. It says simply, 'Gump'. ALEX flips it over. The back side reads: "Ecclesiastes 3:12".
Fade out
The End
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Elf
I recently wrote this short story, and am currently in the process of turning it into a screenplay for writer's craft.
Monday
New York is a cold, hard city, and I'm a cold, hard man. I've been living here for years and never once saw a single thing interesting or anything good coming out of this hell-hole. People live on the streets, guns go off every night, and you can always just barely hear that wonderful faint sound of police sirens in the background as you try to doze off at 12:30 in the morning. I've never experienced anything pleasant here, and the only reason I stay is because my job pays excellent money.
Which is why, when I met Mr. Gump, I decided to pack my bags and have a change of scene.
It was a cold and windy October morning in the big apple. I was tired, and the last place I wanted to be was work. But, seeing as it was Monday and work was the only reason I strived to keep myself alive, I had to go. My car was having the oil changed so I had to take the subway across town.
Of course, I hate the subway. It always reeked of urine and alcohol, and everyone seemed to take a liking to pushing and shoving on the underground train. Usually by the time we hit downtown it would get really cramped too. I would have taken a cab, but the price to cross town was getting outrageous, and so there I was: cramped and grumpy on my way across town with hobos and poor folk brushing up against me with their dirty bodies.
I stood for most of the ride, but found that the trip across town is much longer and more taxing to the legs on the subway, and reluctantly took one of the few seats that remained unoccupied on the rickety transporter. I quickly realized my mistake, however, when I glanced to my right to take in the sight—and stench—of a most revolting looking beggar. I twisted my head around quickly in hopes of finding another seat, but saw none, and so gave a rather loud huff and slouched uncomfortably into the thin red velvet of the subway chair.
The hobo beside me shifted abruptly, as if waking from a dream, and looked over at me with wide eyes. I pretended not to notice him, and made a point of inhaling through my mouth rather than my nose. There was a young woman and child sitting across from me, so I tried focusing on them to distract from the hobo's somewhat piercing gawk.
I glanced over after several moments to see if the hobo had stopped. He hadn't. I looked straight ahead once again: “Never seen Eddie Bauer before?” I asked in an irritated tone.
The hobo chuckled: “Can't say I've had the privilege of meeting him.” he paused to continue his stare for a moment: “Never smelled a homeless guy before?”
I directed my annoyed stare at the hobo, taking a good look at him for the first time: “Can't say I've had the privilege.” I replied through gritted teeth.
The hobo laughed heartily: “Well feel yourself privileged my friend.”
I took note of his teeth as he opened his mouth to laugh again—ivory white, without a single spot on the gums. In fact, other than his clothes, the hobo looked like a perfectly healthy twenty year-old man. If I were to trade garments with him I would look no different than he did now.
However pretty he may have been, the stench still lingered in my burning nostrils.
“Gump.” he stated as he extended a hand to introduce himself. I looked at his fingernails—clean and well maintained. I hesitated as I grasped the hand: the skin was smoother than any woman's hand I had ever held. I frowned, slightly confused.
The hobo laughed once again: “I suppose you could call me a clean freak.”
“A clean freak that smells horrible.” I stated flatly: I was not interested in making a friend.
The hobo smiled, not at all offended by my direct insult: “Can't be the hair.” he chuckled as he removed a patched and torn toque from his slender head.
It was my turn to stare. The awful-smelling hobo had a head of hair equivalent to a horse: flowing, shimmering, and long. Extremely long. The hair nearly reached the smelly man's hips as he shook his head to release the golden strands from the confines of his winter cap. The hobo laughed aloud at my gaping mouth.
“There's only one other thing it could be,” he said, “but that's my armpits and I'm afraid I won't be removing my shirt in temperatures as cold as this.”
“The subway's heated.” I corrected, and immediately regretted it as the hobo proceeded to remove his shirt: “That won't be necessary!” I said abruptly as I raised a hand in protest: “I'll take your word for it.”
The hobo shrugged and gave a satisfied, 'huff' as he settled himself back into his seat. I wasn't so satisfied: “What the hell is that smell if it isn't you?”
“Oh, it's definitely me.” he corrected, “Couldn't be anything but. Everyone else on this train seems to have had acquaintances with this Eddie Bauer fellow you mentioned. You'd think if he had so many clothes, he'd at least be generous enough to give some away. I mean really—”
“--The smell!” I pressed, rather irritated by the young man's nonchalance.
“Oh, right.” He giggled: “Silly me. It's age my boy; the smell of age.” he smiled at me as if I was supposed to know exactly what he meant.
“You're younger than I am.” I stated flatly
“Seems that way, doesn't it?” he replied in an equal tone.
“Yes it seems that way because it is that way Mr. Gump.” I began clenching my jaw repeatedly: a habit I fancied maintaining whenever I was more than a little vexed.
“On the contrary, I'll be turning four thousand on Wednesday. Wednesday. Don't forget that: no one ever seems to remember my birthday these days.”
I made no effort to reply, and simply returned to my pensive posture of staring ahead and breathing specifically through my mouth as opposed to my nose: Mr. Gump was insane. I should have known: anyone living on the streets who was concerned about hygiene must have some form of a mental illness.
“Are you going to remember?” the hobo startled me out of my contemplation: “Wednesday.” he said.
To my relief, the subway stopped at my station right at that moment, and I hurried out and away as quickly as I could: I enjoyed my simple, boring life, and I didn't need some mentally ill hobo trying to befriend me.
The better part of my day passed without occasion, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I boarded the subway that evening to find the hobo was not there. I laid my head back in silence, and took in a long, relaxing breath: silence
Tuesday
The next morning started out the same as every other day of my life had started: shower, breakfast, and get dressed. Normally I would follow the monotonous routine by hopping into my beautiful BMW and driving to work. But the BMW was in the shop for the week, and I had no interest in paying for a cab across town when the subway was just as easy and much cheaper.
I boarded the subway as I had the previous morning and, sure enough, there was the hobo—and he was looking right at me. I stood facing away from him in hopes that he wouldn't notice me. I thought it was working until I heard him giggling.
“Nice try.” he laughed, “Come sit. I ain't gonna make you stand.” said the odd little man as he hefted a large garbage bag off of the seat next to him.
I couldn't deny that it would be nice to sit through the rather long subway ride, and painstakingly took a seat next to the smelly man: “What's in the bag?” I asked without actually caring.
“Oh just a small part of the collection I've been working on over the years.” I huffed: he said it as if he were my grandfather reminiscing his days of youth.
The hobo turned and gave me a quizzical look: “What?” he asked sternly—or tried to with his youngish voice.
“You can't be over 25 years old.” I explained, “We went over this yesterday.”
The hobo laughed out loud: “So you don't believe I'm turning four thousand tomorrow?”
“Of course not!” I nearly shouted, “It's common sense! No one has lived over 120 years old ever! It's simply not possible!”
The hobo raised an eyebrow: “Ever watched Lord of the Rings?” I opened my mouth to reply, but realized we were at my stop and quickly departed the subway.
Wednesday
He brought balloons. Lots of balloons. I thought I was walking into the apartment of Patch Adam's girlfriend when I stepped onto the subway that morning. I had trouble finding a seat, and when I finally did I somehow managed to sit on a balloon which resulted in a loud and startling, 'POP!'
When I finally settled into the thin velvet chair I heard a familiar chuckle somewhere next to me through the mess of colourful birthday balloons: “Did you remember?”
“Happy birthday.” I sighed in high anticipation of that inquiry since the moment I had seen the balloons.
“I only have one question,” I continued, “how have you managed to be on the same car as me three days in a row?”
The hobo poked his head through the balloons like a gopher: “I've had plenty of experience dealing with fellows like you: it's sort of my hobby.”
“Stalking people is a hobby?” I retorted. The hobo smiled: “You never answered my question yesterday morning.”
“What question?”
“Lord of the Rings.”
“What about it?”
“Seen it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” the hobo proceeded to remove the toque which had been occupying his head since I first laid eyes upon him. Once again I stared in awe at the hobo's hair: so long and golden. Without saying anything he pulled an elastic out of one his jacket pockets and set the hair in a ponytail behind his slender head. The hobo then pointed to his ears, and I nearly fell out of my seat as my eyes followed his extended index finger.
His ears were pointed. And long. Like an elf. From Lord of the Rings.
I did my best to remain calm and collect my thoughts before making any sort of rash statement towards the pointy ears of the—elf? No. That was ridiculous. There's all kinds of costume stores dotted across New York City. Realistic elf ears would be no problem to find.
“Nice costume.” I said as if nothing had happened.
The hobo didn't laugh this time, but moved to grasp my wrist. I pulled away quickly, thinking that his, 'birthday' meant he get to eat, 'regular people' or something equally as crazy.
“Calm down.” His voice was suddenly very aged and wise; I felt like a two year old being disciplined for inappropriate behaviour. Without meaning to, I extended my arm and felt the pointy ears. They were warm. I gave a slight pull: “Ow!” exclaimed the elf, returning to his, 'normal' voice and retreating his ears back into the concealment of his toque.
I said nothing, but simply stared in disbelief. I stared for the next ten minutes until we reached my stop. I went through the entire day with a blank expression on my face: trying to discern whether or not I had dreamed the subway ride that morning.
I boarded the subway that evening actually hoping to see Mr. Gump, but, as usual, he was nowhere to be found and I went to bed that night with a feeling I hadn't felt in over 10 years: excitement. I had something to look forward to.
Thursday
I woke up Thursday morning with a start and looked at the clock: late. By half an hour. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal due to the fact that I knew several shortcuts to the office—but I had to take the subway.
I raced around the house in a panic: I had been late for work several times before, and the resulting experience was far from pleasant. My boss had threatened termination, and been very clear that next time was the last time.
Of course, it was only a threat. I knew he needed me, and I knew I was the best employee in the entire department. I was a valuable asset, and soon to get promoted. Besides, after three identical threats it was becoming more of a nuisance than anything. No, it wasn't work I was worried about—I didn't want to miss seeing Mr. Gump.
I managed to rush myself up to being 10 minutes late, and literally ran as fast as I could to the subway station. I boarded the first car on the first train that came. I ran on frantically, my eyes darting every which way in search of the odd little man. I saw nothing, and regrettably took a seat—alone—by the door.
My last, tiny flicker of hope was entirely extinguished when the train shuddered and jolted to a start of the long, lonely trip across town. I felt defeated. I was sitting quite literally alone on the subway: not a single human being other than myself occupied the metal shuttle and it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting out in frustration.
I didn't shout. I sat. I thought. And I nearly sobbed.
I thought back on the past ten years: day after day of nothingness; working, eating, sleeping, and simply surviving. I hadn't spoken to my family in several years, I had no friends other than my coworkers and even then I only communicated with them in a business manner. My life was pointless. I was living an empty life: surviving for the sake of survival, and nothing else.
As the subway continued to roll along and collected more passengers at various stops, I cast an ever hopeful glance to the doors every time my ears caught the faint sound of the sliding metal. Every stop became a high point: a moment where I found a sliver of hope and searched frantically with my eyes for a sight of my new found—and only—friend.
It was exhausting; sitting, waiting, and watching, for the very idea of hope had not entered my brain in nearly a decade, and was now overwhelming my entire body and soul in a matter of two hours. By the time I got to my own stop I could hardly move; so spent from an overload of anticipation. I slowly exited the train and gave one final hopeful look around the station for Mr. Gump before trudging up the subway stairs to carry out yet another pointless day at the workplace.
Friday
In over five years of dreamless sleep—for I had gotten so miserable, alone, and senseless through my ten years of solitude that I no longer dreamed—one tends to forget the absolute phenomenal feeling of experiencing a dream.
After returning home from work Thursday night, I was still feeling defeated and overwhelmed by my revelations early that morning on the subway, and proceeded to go straight to bed. No food, no water, just sleep. This means I had slept from six 'o clock PM to six 'o clock AM—twelve hours. The most exhilarating 12 hours of the past ten years of my life took place then: I dreamed. I can't remember what exactly it was I dreamed about, but I dreamed, and I remember the wonderful feeling during and after that dreaming.
I made my way to the subway feeling quite content: I was on time.
My content was overwhelmed with joy when I boarded the subway to see Mr. Gump sitting in his usual spot, and it was all I could do to keep myself from lifting his small figure into a tight embrace. I smiled at the elf and placed myself in the seat next to him. We said nothing for several minutes, when I finally turned to him and started to apologize for not being on the train the previous day.
Mr. Gump had been keeping a straight face until then, but the moment I began explaining myself he burst into uncontrollable laughter: “Have some trouble with your alarm clock?” he asked, “And how was your dream?”
I said nothing and let my jaw hang limply in disbelief: “Y-.....You did that?” I finally stammered.
“Of course!” Mr. Gump stated matter-of-factly, “You think your alarm can just change itself?”
“How did you know about my dream?”
“It almost always comes after the Thursday.” he muttered
I frowned: “What's that supposed to mean?”
“I suspect you had some revelations yesterday in my absence, yes?” Mr. Gump asked, ignoring my question.
“Well, yes, but--”
“I've known you much longer than you've known me my friend.” Mr. Gump said as he turned to look at me again: “I've been watching you for several months now: eating, sleeping, working. I must say it's a very boring and demeaning routine, and one I've seen many times before.”
I shifted uncomfortably: Mr. Gump was stalking me?
“It's kind of a hobby of mine you see: I like to, 'fix' people.”
“What do you mean, 'fix'?” I frowned.
“Listen young man I've been alive for four thousand years. I've seen a lot of crazy things. I've watched monuments being built, worshipped, and destroyed several hundred years later. I've witnessed the birth and maturity of many children. I've been to nearly every major location in this world and then some, and you know what I've noticed?”
I made no effort to reply.
“People can't be pleased.” he huffed: “Look at us: we've gone from the innocence of the first man and woman to the creations of civilizations which eventually became so evil they were obliterated by the very force that created them. We've searched for happiness and found it in Jesus when we came, but then decided we'd rather have him dead.
I've watched the world go from being united by one, singular, truthful faith, to splitting off into the modern day, 'What's true for you isn't necessarily true for me' nonsense.”
I could see the effect of the age upon Mr. Gump in that moment: the talk of humanity's mistakes was causing him grief and anger—yet he kept going with his rant:
“Tell me something my dear boy,” he said, “you believe in the law of gravity, correct?”
“Well....yes.” I muttered
“Of course you do it's an undeniable fact that's constantly effecting us. One cannot deny that gravity keeps us rooted to our home and likewise our home rooted to the earth, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Right so say I decide one day that the law of gravity isn't true for me: I don't believe in it anymore. It's silly talk: I choose to believe that gravity is not real and that I can fly. I gather a group of followers and we all go jump off a cliff. We don't believe in the law of gravity so it won't apply to us, right?”
“Well...” I stammered
“Wrong!” shouted Mr. Gump, and I was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst: “Just because humanity chooses to not believe in something does not mean that it will not effect them! I was there at the crucifixion of Christ! I know for a fact it is true, and the modern day human cannot just deny the fact and live their life by what each and every fellow believes to be, 'true for me but not necessarily true for others'! It doesn't work that way, boy!”
“Okay...” I muttered, “but what does that have to do with me?”
Mr. Gump relaxed a little and retreated more fully into his chair: “Because that is exactly the way you are living: Only you believe nothing. You live out your life day to day with no purpose and no intent, except to earn your next dollar for your next meal. Your existence is empty, and your life will forever be empty if you don't do something about it soon.”
With that final statement Mr. Gump shook my hand and left the train at the next stop, leaving me open-mouthed and dumbfounded by his words.
I sat on the train until it reached my station, but I didn't go to work. I got off, hailed a taxi, and went home. I called my boss and informed him I would not be coming into work that day—or ever again.
I packed my entire wardrobe into dusty suitcases and called my parents to let them know I would be coming for a visit.
It was my mother who picked up. She sobbed the entire time.
I went to the airport and bought the first ticket to ______ --home.
As I boarded the plane I looked out the window and surveyed the runway, and thought I saw a young homeless man waving to me.
I waved back.
Monday
New York is a cold, hard city, and I'm a cold, hard man. I've been living here for years and never once saw a single thing interesting or anything good coming out of this hell-hole. People live on the streets, guns go off every night, and you can always just barely hear that wonderful faint sound of police sirens in the background as you try to doze off at 12:30 in the morning. I've never experienced anything pleasant here, and the only reason I stay is because my job pays excellent money.
Which is why, when I met Mr. Gump, I decided to pack my bags and have a change of scene.
It was a cold and windy October morning in the big apple. I was tired, and the last place I wanted to be was work. But, seeing as it was Monday and work was the only reason I strived to keep myself alive, I had to go. My car was having the oil changed so I had to take the subway across town.
Of course, I hate the subway. It always reeked of urine and alcohol, and everyone seemed to take a liking to pushing and shoving on the underground train. Usually by the time we hit downtown it would get really cramped too. I would have taken a cab, but the price to cross town was getting outrageous, and so there I was: cramped and grumpy on my way across town with hobos and poor folk brushing up against me with their dirty bodies.
I stood for most of the ride, but found that the trip across town is much longer and more taxing to the legs on the subway, and reluctantly took one of the few seats that remained unoccupied on the rickety transporter. I quickly realized my mistake, however, when I glanced to my right to take in the sight—and stench—of a most revolting looking beggar. I twisted my head around quickly in hopes of finding another seat, but saw none, and so gave a rather loud huff and slouched uncomfortably into the thin red velvet of the subway chair.
The hobo beside me shifted abruptly, as if waking from a dream, and looked over at me with wide eyes. I pretended not to notice him, and made a point of inhaling through my mouth rather than my nose. There was a young woman and child sitting across from me, so I tried focusing on them to distract from the hobo's somewhat piercing gawk.
I glanced over after several moments to see if the hobo had stopped. He hadn't. I looked straight ahead once again: “Never seen Eddie Bauer before?” I asked in an irritated tone.
The hobo chuckled: “Can't say I've had the privilege of meeting him.” he paused to continue his stare for a moment: “Never smelled a homeless guy before?”
I directed my annoyed stare at the hobo, taking a good look at him for the first time: “Can't say I've had the privilege.” I replied through gritted teeth.
The hobo laughed heartily: “Well feel yourself privileged my friend.”
I took note of his teeth as he opened his mouth to laugh again—ivory white, without a single spot on the gums. In fact, other than his clothes, the hobo looked like a perfectly healthy twenty year-old man. If I were to trade garments with him I would look no different than he did now.
However pretty he may have been, the stench still lingered in my burning nostrils.
“Gump.” he stated as he extended a hand to introduce himself. I looked at his fingernails—clean and well maintained. I hesitated as I grasped the hand: the skin was smoother than any woman's hand I had ever held. I frowned, slightly confused.
The hobo laughed once again: “I suppose you could call me a clean freak.”
“A clean freak that smells horrible.” I stated flatly: I was not interested in making a friend.
The hobo smiled, not at all offended by my direct insult: “Can't be the hair.” he chuckled as he removed a patched and torn toque from his slender head.
It was my turn to stare. The awful-smelling hobo had a head of hair equivalent to a horse: flowing, shimmering, and long. Extremely long. The hair nearly reached the smelly man's hips as he shook his head to release the golden strands from the confines of his winter cap. The hobo laughed aloud at my gaping mouth.
“There's only one other thing it could be,” he said, “but that's my armpits and I'm afraid I won't be removing my shirt in temperatures as cold as this.”
“The subway's heated.” I corrected, and immediately regretted it as the hobo proceeded to remove his shirt: “That won't be necessary!” I said abruptly as I raised a hand in protest: “I'll take your word for it.”
The hobo shrugged and gave a satisfied, 'huff' as he settled himself back into his seat. I wasn't so satisfied: “What the hell is that smell if it isn't you?”
“Oh, it's definitely me.” he corrected, “Couldn't be anything but. Everyone else on this train seems to have had acquaintances with this Eddie Bauer fellow you mentioned. You'd think if he had so many clothes, he'd at least be generous enough to give some away. I mean really—”
“--The smell!” I pressed, rather irritated by the young man's nonchalance.
“Oh, right.” He giggled: “Silly me. It's age my boy; the smell of age.” he smiled at me as if I was supposed to know exactly what he meant.
“You're younger than I am.” I stated flatly
“Seems that way, doesn't it?” he replied in an equal tone.
“Yes it seems that way because it is that way Mr. Gump.” I began clenching my jaw repeatedly: a habit I fancied maintaining whenever I was more than a little vexed.
“On the contrary, I'll be turning four thousand on Wednesday. Wednesday. Don't forget that: no one ever seems to remember my birthday these days.”
I made no effort to reply, and simply returned to my pensive posture of staring ahead and breathing specifically through my mouth as opposed to my nose: Mr. Gump was insane. I should have known: anyone living on the streets who was concerned about hygiene must have some form of a mental illness.
“Are you going to remember?” the hobo startled me out of my contemplation: “Wednesday.” he said.
To my relief, the subway stopped at my station right at that moment, and I hurried out and away as quickly as I could: I enjoyed my simple, boring life, and I didn't need some mentally ill hobo trying to befriend me.
The better part of my day passed without occasion, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I boarded the subway that evening to find the hobo was not there. I laid my head back in silence, and took in a long, relaxing breath: silence
Tuesday
The next morning started out the same as every other day of my life had started: shower, breakfast, and get dressed. Normally I would follow the monotonous routine by hopping into my beautiful BMW and driving to work. But the BMW was in the shop for the week, and I had no interest in paying for a cab across town when the subway was just as easy and much cheaper.
I boarded the subway as I had the previous morning and, sure enough, there was the hobo—and he was looking right at me. I stood facing away from him in hopes that he wouldn't notice me. I thought it was working until I heard him giggling.
“Nice try.” he laughed, “Come sit. I ain't gonna make you stand.” said the odd little man as he hefted a large garbage bag off of the seat next to him.
I couldn't deny that it would be nice to sit through the rather long subway ride, and painstakingly took a seat next to the smelly man: “What's in the bag?” I asked without actually caring.
“Oh just a small part of the collection I've been working on over the years.” I huffed: he said it as if he were my grandfather reminiscing his days of youth.
The hobo turned and gave me a quizzical look: “What?” he asked sternly—or tried to with his youngish voice.
“You can't be over 25 years old.” I explained, “We went over this yesterday.”
The hobo laughed out loud: “So you don't believe I'm turning four thousand tomorrow?”
“Of course not!” I nearly shouted, “It's common sense! No one has lived over 120 years old ever! It's simply not possible!”
The hobo raised an eyebrow: “Ever watched Lord of the Rings?” I opened my mouth to reply, but realized we were at my stop and quickly departed the subway.
Wednesday
He brought balloons. Lots of balloons. I thought I was walking into the apartment of Patch Adam's girlfriend when I stepped onto the subway that morning. I had trouble finding a seat, and when I finally did I somehow managed to sit on a balloon which resulted in a loud and startling, 'POP!'
When I finally settled into the thin velvet chair I heard a familiar chuckle somewhere next to me through the mess of colourful birthday balloons: “Did you remember?”
“Happy birthday.” I sighed in high anticipation of that inquiry since the moment I had seen the balloons.
“I only have one question,” I continued, “how have you managed to be on the same car as me three days in a row?”
The hobo poked his head through the balloons like a gopher: “I've had plenty of experience dealing with fellows like you: it's sort of my hobby.”
“Stalking people is a hobby?” I retorted. The hobo smiled: “You never answered my question yesterday morning.”
“What question?”
“Lord of the Rings.”
“What about it?”
“Seen it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” the hobo proceeded to remove the toque which had been occupying his head since I first laid eyes upon him. Once again I stared in awe at the hobo's hair: so long and golden. Without saying anything he pulled an elastic out of one his jacket pockets and set the hair in a ponytail behind his slender head. The hobo then pointed to his ears, and I nearly fell out of my seat as my eyes followed his extended index finger.
His ears were pointed. And long. Like an elf. From Lord of the Rings.
I did my best to remain calm and collect my thoughts before making any sort of rash statement towards the pointy ears of the—elf? No. That was ridiculous. There's all kinds of costume stores dotted across New York City. Realistic elf ears would be no problem to find.
“Nice costume.” I said as if nothing had happened.
The hobo didn't laugh this time, but moved to grasp my wrist. I pulled away quickly, thinking that his, 'birthday' meant he get to eat, 'regular people' or something equally as crazy.
“Calm down.” His voice was suddenly very aged and wise; I felt like a two year old being disciplined for inappropriate behaviour. Without meaning to, I extended my arm and felt the pointy ears. They were warm. I gave a slight pull: “Ow!” exclaimed the elf, returning to his, 'normal' voice and retreating his ears back into the concealment of his toque.
I said nothing, but simply stared in disbelief. I stared for the next ten minutes until we reached my stop. I went through the entire day with a blank expression on my face: trying to discern whether or not I had dreamed the subway ride that morning.
I boarded the subway that evening actually hoping to see Mr. Gump, but, as usual, he was nowhere to be found and I went to bed that night with a feeling I hadn't felt in over 10 years: excitement. I had something to look forward to.
Thursday
I woke up Thursday morning with a start and looked at the clock: late. By half an hour. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal due to the fact that I knew several shortcuts to the office—but I had to take the subway.
I raced around the house in a panic: I had been late for work several times before, and the resulting experience was far from pleasant. My boss had threatened termination, and been very clear that next time was the last time.
Of course, it was only a threat. I knew he needed me, and I knew I was the best employee in the entire department. I was a valuable asset, and soon to get promoted. Besides, after three identical threats it was becoming more of a nuisance than anything. No, it wasn't work I was worried about—I didn't want to miss seeing Mr. Gump.
I managed to rush myself up to being 10 minutes late, and literally ran as fast as I could to the subway station. I boarded the first car on the first train that came. I ran on frantically, my eyes darting every which way in search of the odd little man. I saw nothing, and regrettably took a seat—alone—by the door.
My last, tiny flicker of hope was entirely extinguished when the train shuddered and jolted to a start of the long, lonely trip across town. I felt defeated. I was sitting quite literally alone on the subway: not a single human being other than myself occupied the metal shuttle and it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting out in frustration.
I didn't shout. I sat. I thought. And I nearly sobbed.
I thought back on the past ten years: day after day of nothingness; working, eating, sleeping, and simply surviving. I hadn't spoken to my family in several years, I had no friends other than my coworkers and even then I only communicated with them in a business manner. My life was pointless. I was living an empty life: surviving for the sake of survival, and nothing else.
As the subway continued to roll along and collected more passengers at various stops, I cast an ever hopeful glance to the doors every time my ears caught the faint sound of the sliding metal. Every stop became a high point: a moment where I found a sliver of hope and searched frantically with my eyes for a sight of my new found—and only—friend.
It was exhausting; sitting, waiting, and watching, for the very idea of hope had not entered my brain in nearly a decade, and was now overwhelming my entire body and soul in a matter of two hours. By the time I got to my own stop I could hardly move; so spent from an overload of anticipation. I slowly exited the train and gave one final hopeful look around the station for Mr. Gump before trudging up the subway stairs to carry out yet another pointless day at the workplace.
Friday
In over five years of dreamless sleep—for I had gotten so miserable, alone, and senseless through my ten years of solitude that I no longer dreamed—one tends to forget the absolute phenomenal feeling of experiencing a dream.
After returning home from work Thursday night, I was still feeling defeated and overwhelmed by my revelations early that morning on the subway, and proceeded to go straight to bed. No food, no water, just sleep. This means I had slept from six 'o clock PM to six 'o clock AM—twelve hours. The most exhilarating 12 hours of the past ten years of my life took place then: I dreamed. I can't remember what exactly it was I dreamed about, but I dreamed, and I remember the wonderful feeling during and after that dreaming.
I made my way to the subway feeling quite content: I was on time.
My content was overwhelmed with joy when I boarded the subway to see Mr. Gump sitting in his usual spot, and it was all I could do to keep myself from lifting his small figure into a tight embrace. I smiled at the elf and placed myself in the seat next to him. We said nothing for several minutes, when I finally turned to him and started to apologize for not being on the train the previous day.
Mr. Gump had been keeping a straight face until then, but the moment I began explaining myself he burst into uncontrollable laughter: “Have some trouble with your alarm clock?” he asked, “And how was your dream?”
I said nothing and let my jaw hang limply in disbelief: “Y-.....You did that?” I finally stammered.
“Of course!” Mr. Gump stated matter-of-factly, “You think your alarm can just change itself?”
“How did you know about my dream?”
“It almost always comes after the Thursday.” he muttered
I frowned: “What's that supposed to mean?”
“I suspect you had some revelations yesterday in my absence, yes?” Mr. Gump asked, ignoring my question.
“Well, yes, but--”
“I've known you much longer than you've known me my friend.” Mr. Gump said as he turned to look at me again: “I've been watching you for several months now: eating, sleeping, working. I must say it's a very boring and demeaning routine, and one I've seen many times before.”
I shifted uncomfortably: Mr. Gump was stalking me?
“It's kind of a hobby of mine you see: I like to, 'fix' people.”
“What do you mean, 'fix'?” I frowned.
“Listen young man I've been alive for four thousand years. I've seen a lot of crazy things. I've watched monuments being built, worshipped, and destroyed several hundred years later. I've witnessed the birth and maturity of many children. I've been to nearly every major location in this world and then some, and you know what I've noticed?”
I made no effort to reply.
“People can't be pleased.” he huffed: “Look at us: we've gone from the innocence of the first man and woman to the creations of civilizations which eventually became so evil they were obliterated by the very force that created them. We've searched for happiness and found it in Jesus when we came, but then decided we'd rather have him dead.
I've watched the world go from being united by one, singular, truthful faith, to splitting off into the modern day, 'What's true for you isn't necessarily true for me' nonsense.”
I could see the effect of the age upon Mr. Gump in that moment: the talk of humanity's mistakes was causing him grief and anger—yet he kept going with his rant:
“Tell me something my dear boy,” he said, “you believe in the law of gravity, correct?”
“Well....yes.” I muttered
“Of course you do it's an undeniable fact that's constantly effecting us. One cannot deny that gravity keeps us rooted to our home and likewise our home rooted to the earth, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Right so say I decide one day that the law of gravity isn't true for me: I don't believe in it anymore. It's silly talk: I choose to believe that gravity is not real and that I can fly. I gather a group of followers and we all go jump off a cliff. We don't believe in the law of gravity so it won't apply to us, right?”
“Well...” I stammered
“Wrong!” shouted Mr. Gump, and I was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst: “Just because humanity chooses to not believe in something does not mean that it will not effect them! I was there at the crucifixion of Christ! I know for a fact it is true, and the modern day human cannot just deny the fact and live their life by what each and every fellow believes to be, 'true for me but not necessarily true for others'! It doesn't work that way, boy!”
“Okay...” I muttered, “but what does that have to do with me?”
Mr. Gump relaxed a little and retreated more fully into his chair: “Because that is exactly the way you are living: Only you believe nothing. You live out your life day to day with no purpose and no intent, except to earn your next dollar for your next meal. Your existence is empty, and your life will forever be empty if you don't do something about it soon.”
With that final statement Mr. Gump shook my hand and left the train at the next stop, leaving me open-mouthed and dumbfounded by his words.
I sat on the train until it reached my station, but I didn't go to work. I got off, hailed a taxi, and went home. I called my boss and informed him I would not be coming into work that day—or ever again.
I packed my entire wardrobe into dusty suitcases and called my parents to let them know I would be coming for a visit.
It was my mother who picked up. She sobbed the entire time.
I went to the airport and bought the first ticket to ______ --home.
As I boarded the plane I looked out the window and surveyed the runway, and thought I saw a young homeless man waving to me.
I waved back.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Watch out
I woke up today. I had breakfast, had a shower, and brushed my teeth. I rushed out to the bus thinking I would be late, and ended up standing there for ten minutes feeling like an idiot. I should really get a new watch.
I got on the bus today. I sat in my favourite seat: farthest back on the left. Most people complain that the back of the bus is too bumpy. I like it. It helps me think. I pulled out my iPod and turned it to my favourite song. It's a slower kinda song, like the kind that makes you feel sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep on the bus today. I had a really good dream. I dreamt I was a little green pea bouncing in a frying pan amongst millions of other little green peas. Everyone of us peas was happy and giddy. Then someone turned the stove on. That's when I woke up. It was kind of a good thing: we pulled into the bus loop two minutes later. Make that three. I really need a new watch.
I went to my locker today. Upon opening it, I was greeted with the wonderful stench of old gym clothes. Gross. I grabbed a couple of oversized text books and stuffed them into an undersized backpack. I was about to leave for class, but looked at the time and found—to my surprise—I was a couple minutes early today. I got out my laptop and propped myself against the wall. It's about time I got to work some of my overdue projects.
I was late for my first class today. Wow, I really need to get a new watch, and I should probably keep that in mind so I don't keep using the piece of junk which currently occupies my wrist. I won't throw it out though; that would just be silly.
I sat down at my desk today. We were doing review for a test. I pulled out my iPod and turned on my favourite song. It's that slower kinda song. The one that makes you feel sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep in my first class today. I continued my dream about being a little green pea in a frying pan. The heat had been turned on by now, and every one of the bouncing little green peas was crying out in agony every time they hit the merciless metal surface of our frying pan home. For some reason I wasn't feeling the pain, and continued to bounce around happily. This went on for several minutes when a large wooden spoon came down and started tossing us about: “How rude.” I thought. Then I woke up. I looked at my watch: ten minutes left of class. I quickly got back to doing review and was just getting focused when the bell rang five minutes before I thought it would. Right. Watch.
I was almost late for my second class today. Luckily it's not too far from my first class, so I had no trouble. In fact the bell didn't ring until I sat down in my seat. Bonus. That is, until I find out all we're doing is working on a new project. I never even started the last one. So I turned on my iPod once again and started working on the last project. Even when I put my iPod on shuffle, my favourite song still managed to come on. You know, the slower kinda song that makes you feel really sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep in my second class today. I went back into frying pan land where there were burning peas and big wooden spoons. By now the wooden spoon had stopped batting everyone about and we seemed at peace: able to bounce about all we wanted again in our big metal frying pan. Then a spoon came. It started scooping us out one by one, placing us on pretty china plates. Then a fork came down. I awoke with a start: what a horrible dream. I looked at my watch: half an hour of class left.
I almost finished an overdue project in class today. I was just adding some finishing touches when I was interrupted—not saved—by the bell. I looked at my watch: “It's all your fault.” I muttered as I bustled to my locker to get some lunch. “Hey Benny boy!” I heard my name. I turned around to see my best friend Ryan running over holding car keys: “I got my new ride today man! Wanna go for a spin?” He has a huge grin on his face. “Sure.” I replied, “Why not?”
I drove my best friend's new car today. He even let me put my iPod on. I put on my favourite song. It's not much of a driving song, but it makes you feel sentimental and...tired. I was just starting to get back into my pea dream when I heard a faint, “Watch out!” Then something hit me—really hard.
I got in a car accident today. I woke up in the hospital about an hour later—actually it might have been a little sooner or later than that—I wasn't wearing my watch. My dad was standing over me with a concerned look on his old face: “You feeling okay son?” “Yea,” I replied, “do I look okay?” he laughed: “You'll be fine: just a few broken bones and some stitches is what the doctor's saying.”
“How's Ryan?”
“He's fine: didn't even break a bone. In fact, his car isn't even totalled or in that bad of a condition. He offered to buy you something as a get well soon present but he wants you to choose. Anything you have in mind?”
“Yea, a watch.”
I got on the bus today. I sat in my favourite seat: farthest back on the left. Most people complain that the back of the bus is too bumpy. I like it. It helps me think. I pulled out my iPod and turned it to my favourite song. It's a slower kinda song, like the kind that makes you feel sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep on the bus today. I had a really good dream. I dreamt I was a little green pea bouncing in a frying pan amongst millions of other little green peas. Everyone of us peas was happy and giddy. Then someone turned the stove on. That's when I woke up. It was kind of a good thing: we pulled into the bus loop two minutes later. Make that three. I really need a new watch.
I went to my locker today. Upon opening it, I was greeted with the wonderful stench of old gym clothes. Gross. I grabbed a couple of oversized text books and stuffed them into an undersized backpack. I was about to leave for class, but looked at the time and found—to my surprise—I was a couple minutes early today. I got out my laptop and propped myself against the wall. It's about time I got to work some of my overdue projects.
I was late for my first class today. Wow, I really need to get a new watch, and I should probably keep that in mind so I don't keep using the piece of junk which currently occupies my wrist. I won't throw it out though; that would just be silly.
I sat down at my desk today. We were doing review for a test. I pulled out my iPod and turned on my favourite song. It's that slower kinda song. The one that makes you feel sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep in my first class today. I continued my dream about being a little green pea in a frying pan. The heat had been turned on by now, and every one of the bouncing little green peas was crying out in agony every time they hit the merciless metal surface of our frying pan home. For some reason I wasn't feeling the pain, and continued to bounce around happily. This went on for several minutes when a large wooden spoon came down and started tossing us about: “How rude.” I thought. Then I woke up. I looked at my watch: ten minutes left of class. I quickly got back to doing review and was just getting focused when the bell rang five minutes before I thought it would. Right. Watch.
I was almost late for my second class today. Luckily it's not too far from my first class, so I had no trouble. In fact the bell didn't ring until I sat down in my seat. Bonus. That is, until I find out all we're doing is working on a new project. I never even started the last one. So I turned on my iPod once again and started working on the last project. Even when I put my iPod on shuffle, my favourite song still managed to come on. You know, the slower kinda song that makes you feel really sentimental and...tired.
I fell asleep in my second class today. I went back into frying pan land where there were burning peas and big wooden spoons. By now the wooden spoon had stopped batting everyone about and we seemed at peace: able to bounce about all we wanted again in our big metal frying pan. Then a spoon came. It started scooping us out one by one, placing us on pretty china plates. Then a fork came down. I awoke with a start: what a horrible dream. I looked at my watch: half an hour of class left.
I almost finished an overdue project in class today. I was just adding some finishing touches when I was interrupted—not saved—by the bell. I looked at my watch: “It's all your fault.” I muttered as I bustled to my locker to get some lunch. “Hey Benny boy!” I heard my name. I turned around to see my best friend Ryan running over holding car keys: “I got my new ride today man! Wanna go for a spin?” He has a huge grin on his face. “Sure.” I replied, “Why not?”
I drove my best friend's new car today. He even let me put my iPod on. I put on my favourite song. It's not much of a driving song, but it makes you feel sentimental and...tired. I was just starting to get back into my pea dream when I heard a faint, “Watch out!” Then something hit me—really hard.
I got in a car accident today. I woke up in the hospital about an hour later—actually it might have been a little sooner or later than that—I wasn't wearing my watch. My dad was standing over me with a concerned look on his old face: “You feeling okay son?” “Yea,” I replied, “do I look okay?” he laughed: “You'll be fine: just a few broken bones and some stitches is what the doctor's saying.”
“How's Ryan?”
“He's fine: didn't even break a bone. In fact, his car isn't even totalled or in that bad of a condition. He offered to buy you something as a get well soon present but he wants you to choose. Anything you have in mind?”
“Yea, a watch.”
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Voice of Reason
One of the most difficult and most frequently asked questions in the world is, ‘why?’. More specifically, ‘why write?’. And I say, indeed, why write? What is the reason? There is, of course, the motivation, for motivation and writing go hand in hand, but what is the reason to write? Some say that motivation and reason are one and the same but I beg to differ.
Motivation is inspiration and ideas. Motivation is the bird that flits past your window, or the blade of grass tilted slightly more the left than all the other blades of grass. Motivation is the buoy you see sitting alone on the bay: swaying back and forth in a sad sort of motion. Motivation is a comment you heard on the bus this morning. Motivation is a dream you had the other night. Motivation is someone being pulled over for speeding. Motivation is that one idea you have which becomes a seven hundred page novel, and later on an award-winning movie.
Now imagine you have just finished scribing that seven hundred page novel and days, months, perhaps even years have passed since the original motivation ebbed into your creative mind on a cool summer evening. You sit down in front of the hearth, happily, with a glass of scotch in your hand and a sweet cigar in your mouth. You contemplate on you just-finished novel. You do not yet know that it will be published and it will be an award-winning movie. For all you know you may have just wasted seven hundred perfectly good pieces of paper on something that is nothing more than the simple ramblings of an under-accomplished writer.
Why did you write this possible masterpiece? What was the reason for it? Obviously you wrote it because you had motivation and the idea needed to escape, but what now? Why did you put this down on paper? Moreover, why seven hundred pieces of paper? You could have simply let the idea rot in a journal or waste away on your voice recorder as a forgotten memo. But for some reason this one idea escaped the confines of your journal prison and elaborated itself on the seven hundred pages which sit upon your writer’s desk at this moment. This idea is a story of adventure and excitement, wile and wit, and betrayal. But what purpose does it serve? Why did you write it? It’s not even true.
I told you that, ‘why’ is one of the world’s hardest questions to answer.
And yet, the reason for writing is so simple. If you write, you have a talent, whether you are a, ‘good’ writer or not. You have the inspiration and the motivation to write, so do it. Even if one writes tales of lore and fantasy, there is always a lesson to be learned from the tale. I myself read many fantasy novels, and many a time have learned more life lessons in one reading then in a week of schooling. The purpose of writing is to inspire and bring joy to others. (However, if you really want to get technical, why do anything? You only die and leave everything behind anyway. Isn’t why such a tricky question?) Write to entertain. Make people cry, make children laugh, make old folks reminisce, and give people a reason to read. Do not write to create another dust collector or shelf filler. Use your inspiration to create inspiration.
Why write? Why not? You have nothing to lose.
Motivation is inspiration and ideas. Motivation is the bird that flits past your window, or the blade of grass tilted slightly more the left than all the other blades of grass. Motivation is the buoy you see sitting alone on the bay: swaying back and forth in a sad sort of motion. Motivation is a comment you heard on the bus this morning. Motivation is a dream you had the other night. Motivation is someone being pulled over for speeding. Motivation is that one idea you have which becomes a seven hundred page novel, and later on an award-winning movie.
Now imagine you have just finished scribing that seven hundred page novel and days, months, perhaps even years have passed since the original motivation ebbed into your creative mind on a cool summer evening. You sit down in front of the hearth, happily, with a glass of scotch in your hand and a sweet cigar in your mouth. You contemplate on you just-finished novel. You do not yet know that it will be published and it will be an award-winning movie. For all you know you may have just wasted seven hundred perfectly good pieces of paper on something that is nothing more than the simple ramblings of an under-accomplished writer.
Why did you write this possible masterpiece? What was the reason for it? Obviously you wrote it because you had motivation and the idea needed to escape, but what now? Why did you put this down on paper? Moreover, why seven hundred pieces of paper? You could have simply let the idea rot in a journal or waste away on your voice recorder as a forgotten memo. But for some reason this one idea escaped the confines of your journal prison and elaborated itself on the seven hundred pages which sit upon your writer’s desk at this moment. This idea is a story of adventure and excitement, wile and wit, and betrayal. But what purpose does it serve? Why did you write it? It’s not even true.
I told you that, ‘why’ is one of the world’s hardest questions to answer.
And yet, the reason for writing is so simple. If you write, you have a talent, whether you are a, ‘good’ writer or not. You have the inspiration and the motivation to write, so do it. Even if one writes tales of lore and fantasy, there is always a lesson to be learned from the tale. I myself read many fantasy novels, and many a time have learned more life lessons in one reading then in a week of schooling. The purpose of writing is to inspire and bring joy to others. (However, if you really want to get technical, why do anything? You only die and leave everything behind anyway. Isn’t why such a tricky question?) Write to entertain. Make people cry, make children laugh, make old folks reminisce, and give people a reason to read. Do not write to create another dust collector or shelf filler. Use your inspiration to create inspiration.
Why write? Why not? You have nothing to lose.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Prank'd
Some days are just not your day. Some days you want to throw the TV remote at the TV, and then throw the TV out the window. Some days you want to stop in traffic and sit there because the guy behind you is tailgating you. Some days you want to scream at the top of your lungs until they explode, and then scream some more afterwards. Some days you just want to curl up into a ball and cry. And some days are just simply bad days.
Like today.
Woke up late, had a freezing cold shower, fell down the stairs and bumped my shin, had a horrible breakfast and then couldn't find my toothbrush. Couldn't start the car because the lights had been left on. Had to get a jump start from my grumpy neighbor who I hate. Got stuck in traffic so I was late for work. Got yelled at by my boss for being late. Went to get a coffee but it was cold--drank some anyway. Then the computer wouldn't start. Crawled under the desk to see what was wrong and spilled cold coffee on my back. Jumped in surprise and hit my head on the bottom of my desk which knocked the computer monitor onto the floor. Now the screen's cracked. Got up to go to the washroom and yell. Shirt got caught on the edge of my cubicle and the whole thing fell over. I just walked away. Got in the washroom and realized I forgot to shave. Yelled. Went back to my cubicle and everyone in the office was standing around it. Picked up my cubicle and got on the phone to order a new computer. Put on hold--for five hours. Tried to explain to my boss why I got nothing done today. Got yelled at again. Went to go home and my tire was flat. Called a tow truck. Waited two hours. Got a two-hundred dollar bill for having my tire filled with air. Got stuck in traffic on the way home. Got pulled over by a police officer...
Great. Just what I need on a day like today. A ticket. I hate the awkward spanse of time between the cop pulling you over and then actually getting out of the car to come and talk to you. Seriously, what do they do in there? Must be writing down my license plate number or something, I wasn't even speeding! Did I make an illegal lane change? This guy better give me a warning because I don't even know that I did anything wrong. He must be a new cop, just started a while ago. Stupid beginners. I don't need a ticket right now, I have bills to pay! Looks like another month without my new boat. What an asshole, this cop is taking away my chance to get a boat! I bet he knows it! Whatever, here he comes.
Roll down my window.
"What seems to be the problem officer?" he has a huge grin on his face. Of course he does, he must be having a great day. Asshole.
"Well my friend I was just--oh, my apologies sir."
"I'm sorry?" he is a beginner; friggin idiot...
"No I just thought you were someone else. You have the exact some car as a friend of mine and I wanted to give him a little scare as a joke seeing as its been real slow today. You can be on your way sir, sorry about the confusion." he starts walking back to his car.
"What?" take of my seatbelt: this is the last straw.
"It was all a joke sir you did nothing wrong you be on your wa--okay sir I need you to step back into your car." yea, now he's having a slow day.
"I have had the worst day today, and you expect me to take something like this as okay? I'm stressin out because I can't afford a ticket right now, and you tell me it's a joke?" walking towards the cop, startin to get real sarcastic. Turns out he's the one I'm going to lose it on: "It's people like you, 'officer' who make me so mad." cop pulls out his gun.
I'm standing on the side of a freeway with a gun being pointed at me.
Keep walking towards the cop.
"Sir I need you to calm down and get back into your car."
"You my friend, are a complete asshole."
Jump at the cop, get shot in the leg. Fall over and land near his feet. Cop starts hand-cuffing me, punch him in the face. Get pepper sprayed. Taken to the hospital, then to the station. In excruciating pain the entire time. Told my rights and put into an overnight cell at the station. Call my wife. Explain I've made a total fool of myself. Get my ear rung out by my freaked out wife. Have a sleepless night. Get released and given a court date.
Go Home, have a shower, and call my lawyer.
Yea, some days are just not your day.
Like today.
Woke up late, had a freezing cold shower, fell down the stairs and bumped my shin, had a horrible breakfast and then couldn't find my toothbrush. Couldn't start the car because the lights had been left on. Had to get a jump start from my grumpy neighbor who I hate. Got stuck in traffic so I was late for work. Got yelled at by my boss for being late. Went to get a coffee but it was cold--drank some anyway. Then the computer wouldn't start. Crawled under the desk to see what was wrong and spilled cold coffee on my back. Jumped in surprise and hit my head on the bottom of my desk which knocked the computer monitor onto the floor. Now the screen's cracked. Got up to go to the washroom and yell. Shirt got caught on the edge of my cubicle and the whole thing fell over. I just walked away. Got in the washroom and realized I forgot to shave. Yelled. Went back to my cubicle and everyone in the office was standing around it. Picked up my cubicle and got on the phone to order a new computer. Put on hold--for five hours. Tried to explain to my boss why I got nothing done today. Got yelled at again. Went to go home and my tire was flat. Called a tow truck. Waited two hours. Got a two-hundred dollar bill for having my tire filled with air. Got stuck in traffic on the way home. Got pulled over by a police officer...
Great. Just what I need on a day like today. A ticket. I hate the awkward spanse of time between the cop pulling you over and then actually getting out of the car to come and talk to you. Seriously, what do they do in there? Must be writing down my license plate number or something, I wasn't even speeding! Did I make an illegal lane change? This guy better give me a warning because I don't even know that I did anything wrong. He must be a new cop, just started a while ago. Stupid beginners. I don't need a ticket right now, I have bills to pay! Looks like another month without my new boat. What an asshole, this cop is taking away my chance to get a boat! I bet he knows it! Whatever, here he comes.
Roll down my window.
"What seems to be the problem officer?" he has a huge grin on his face. Of course he does, he must be having a great day. Asshole.
"Well my friend I was just--oh, my apologies sir."
"I'm sorry?" he is a beginner; friggin idiot...
"No I just thought you were someone else. You have the exact some car as a friend of mine and I wanted to give him a little scare as a joke seeing as its been real slow today. You can be on your way sir, sorry about the confusion." he starts walking back to his car.
"What?" take of my seatbelt: this is the last straw.
"It was all a joke sir you did nothing wrong you be on your wa--okay sir I need you to step back into your car." yea, now he's having a slow day.
"I have had the worst day today, and you expect me to take something like this as okay? I'm stressin out because I can't afford a ticket right now, and you tell me it's a joke?" walking towards the cop, startin to get real sarcastic. Turns out he's the one I'm going to lose it on: "It's people like you, 'officer' who make me so mad." cop pulls out his gun.
I'm standing on the side of a freeway with a gun being pointed at me.
Keep walking towards the cop.
"Sir I need you to calm down and get back into your car."
"You my friend, are a complete asshole."
Jump at the cop, get shot in the leg. Fall over and land near his feet. Cop starts hand-cuffing me, punch him in the face. Get pepper sprayed. Taken to the hospital, then to the station. In excruciating pain the entire time. Told my rights and put into an overnight cell at the station. Call my wife. Explain I've made a total fool of myself. Get my ear rung out by my freaked out wife. Have a sleepless night. Get released and given a court date.
Go Home, have a shower, and call my lawyer.
Yea, some days are just not your day.
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